


The Body Pillow (Alternatively, The Terrible, No Good, Very Bad Decision)

by sciderman



Series: The Body Pillow Series [1]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Humor, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 20:43:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5220131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciderman/pseuds/sciderman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Parker makes another terrible decision (big surprise). One-shot response to a prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Body Pillow (Alternatively, The Terrible, No Good, Very Bad Decision)

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt by [spideypoolfanfic](http://spideypoolfanfic.tumblr.com)

Hello, I’m Peter Parker and my life consists purely out of bad decisions.

And guess what? I never seem to learn.

It was a special offer. It was a special offer, I swear. I would never pay $100+ for some tacky pillow. And I bought it out of irony. That’s right, it’s just for me to laugh at. Wait, no, it’s not for _me_. It’s for a friend. It’s actually for charity. I’m going to auction it off to raise money for the orphans. It’s––

…I knowingly purchased a Deadpool body pillow. For reasons unknown, I spent _money_ on this. I paid good money to completely humiliate myself in front of my neighbour, in needing to pick it up from their apartment, because I happened to be in the shower when the delivery guy came knocking the door.

I _paid_ for this.

And I sure am getting my money’s worth.

When flat 63’s door came finally rattling open, I reckon I was probably sinking through the filthy, threadbare carpet of the hallway separating our two apartments. Only to sink deeper when one wide blue eye peered through the crack in the door, examining me up and down, as if I were some kind of threat.

His expression lightened a little, as he spoke up.

“Flat 62?” He said knowingly, a sickening giddiness to his voice that brought me an even further wave of uneasiness. I try my best not to think about how uncomfortably familiar the husk of his voice is.

“Yeah–– I, uh–– you’ve got a package for me.”

 _“I’ll_ say.”

After the messing about with what seemed to be an excessive number of chains, the door swung open. The man, my neighbour, that stood behind it, rummaged to the side, until he carried with him a large box. Me, utterly and completely embarrassed by being in this situation, and it being my _own_ fault, kept my head turned downwards, to the worn wooden doorway of his flat.

“Interesting… _purchase…”_ My reasonably perplexed neighbour remarked, handing me the large box.

“…Y-yeah…” I stammered out, grip tight on the box, eyes fixed on the block writing that stamped “抱き枕 (デッドプール”)” on the side. Breathing what must’ve been an audible sigh of relief in finding that the contents were described in Japanese.

“I’ve always considered investing in a Dakimakura of my own, so it’s great to see that there’s somebody else in this building as lonely as I am.”

I froze. I almost crushed the box in my hands out of my jitters. He can read Japanese. Of course he can read Japanese. Just my luck. _Just my luck_.

“I-it’s uh, for a friend. For, uh, charity. For a friend’s charity. My, uh––“  I stammered, backing away. A slow and cowardly retreat.

“Hey, there’s no shame, dude. They’re comfortable. Welcome addition to any home–- Ideal home, you’d have a whole bunch of them. Build a fort. What site did you order it from? I’ve been meaning to get a Spidey one, I’ll be honest. Deadpool one, though? Great taste, my man. I’m flattered, really.”

And that’s when I stumbled backwards, foot getting caught in a bump in the carpet. This building complex was a mess. If I weren’t too broke to afford a lawyer, I’d probably sue.

Flattered? _Flattered_? …Did he just say he was planning on getting a Spider-man one? Did I just smack my head on drywall? What happened to spider-sense? Am I _dead_? When did breathing get so difficult? Oh, I’m choking.

Goodbye, cruel world.

I won’t miss you. You’ve never done me any favours here, let’s be honest.

There was a good solid 12 seconds of nothing but black, like the ending of a movie right before the credits roll. The credits would be welcome right about now. Cut to black, that’s a wrap. Actors to their dressing rooms, you know the deal. But this is an imperfect world, and unfortunately, this imperfect world came back around into my train of vision. With Mr Friendly Neighbour right in the centre of it. His warm, scarred features bearing down on me. Right up in my grill.

 _“Wade.”_ I must’ve mumbled out, before my mind could work fast enough to stop me, and Mr Friendly Neighbour’s features that were once taken with concern softened into a smile.

 _“_ Boy _,_ you must fantasise about me a lot, because the way you said my name, it almost sounded like you _knew_ me.”

Oh, god. Oh, _god_. That’s _not_ what’s happening here, that’s–– Maybe that’s a _little_ of what’s happening here. No. No. I bought that pillow for _charity_. Think of the _orphans_.

Stop kidding yourself, Peter.

“I have to go–– I _really_ have to go––“ I shook him off. I shook the poor sap off. Who would’ve thought that Deadpool–– Wade Wilson, was living in my building all this time? Neighbours, no less. Literally right opposite my flat. He’s probably seen me locked out in my underwear more than once. What a sick joke this is. What kind of horrible, clichéd fanfic AU am I part of?

This is what I get for ordering a Deadpool body pillow. I bet Deadpool materialised in the flat opposite me just to teach me a lesson.

“I’ve had loads of people faint in my presence. Like, usually it’s out of fear, or disgust. But I’ve never had a fan faint in front of me before. This must be a really big deal for you, right?” Wade kept talking, obviously excited. I’m not sure how I resisted the urge to hit him, but I persevered. “I knew there must be Deadpool fans out there. I’m pretty big in Japan, I knew that, but I’d never have suspected there’d be a hardcore Deadpool fanboy living right next door! And a cute one at that.”

“F-for–– the orphans––“ I practically sobbed out.

“If you ever wanted to swing by for breakfast or coffee or anything, just _holla atcha boy_ , sweetie.” He spoke with glee, brushing his knuckles against my chin in a friendly gesture. Or probably a _more_ -than-friendly gesture, which was far too overwhelming for your friendly neighbourhood Peter Parker to handle.

Just–– form a sentence. Form a cohesive sentence, Parker.

_“Ggg…gyuh-huh.”_

Less than perfect, but that’ll have to do.

As I shuffled to my feet, sweaty palms gripping to my door handle tightly enough to bend it out of shape, I expressed my gratitude in a loud and messy manner.

“Thank you! For holding my package!”

I mentally screeched.

Before I could even look at Wade, or even let him form a response to my idiotic proclamation of gratitude, I shoved the box fast in through my front door, slamming the door as fast as I could behind me.

Breakfast or coffee. Honestly, that sounds great. Too bad I can’t be seen in public ever again, or I might’ve taken Wade up on that offer.

Great going, Parker. _Real_ smooth.

And, as if on cue, the large Dakimakura-carrying box toppled over, taking a vase down with it.

**END**


End file.
